


Bound By Letters

by incomprehensiblemetaphor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-03 05:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incomprehensiblemetaphor/pseuds/incomprehensiblemetaphor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Winchester was just a child, his father was hurtled to the future to fight (and eventually be killed by) a being called Abaddon.<br/>Except he wasn't, because Abaddon has been trapped in Hell for all these years, and Henry never left, and for more generations than anyone can remember, members of the Winchester family have been trained as part of a special group called the Men of Letters, who are dedicated to finding out all there is to know about supernatural creatures.<br/>However, just because Abaddon didn't escape fifty years ago doesn't mean that she can't. And now she has. With a knight of Hell on the loose, the Men of Letters are forced to defend themselves with the help of some unlikely allies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from Tumblr, though it has kind of taken on a bizarre life of its own. This has been beta'd (so any mistakes are as much on her as me), but any criticism would be welcome. Also, my apologies for the typos. I have no excuses for those.
> 
> Only tagged Destiel because of a few scenes later on that are almost definitely going to come off that way (because I am a rabid shipper and can't help myself). So anyone who came here hoping for copious amounts of snogging is going to be disappointed.
> 
> I am aware that this is awkwardly written. Any suggestions for quick fixes would be wonderful. Eventually I'll sit down and edit this, but life is ganging up on me right now, so until I have time to get my head on straight, you guys get the barely edited first draft! Aren't you thrilled?

The house was said to be haunted. Nobody had lived in it for years before Molly Wright, a grade school teacher at the nearby public establishment, decided to give the old place a chance. She moved in three weeks before the start of the school year and dedicated every spare minute to getting the place ready to show off.

It was her first job since getting out of school, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. Teaching hadn’t always been her passion. In fact, she had actually started because of a dare and a guy, but something about the profession had resonated with her. Even when she had searched for six months without any success, she had never given up on what she called her “accidental occupation.”

The house turned out to be everything that Molly wanted. She hardly had to tear into the walls at all, and with a few coats of paint, it looked half a century newer. Clearly the house wasn’t haunted in the slightest. It was just poorly represented.

However, after the initial burst of energy, the fold up furniture languished for another week before she could get some decent trappings. Though she didn’t realize it in all her work to get ready for her new job, the house did not seem to be as thrilled about her living there as she was. Though nothing changed, everyone who walked by got the oddest feeling that a storm was brewing on the property.

  
One week before the start of the school year, she started to notice strange things going on. When she got home from shopping for some classroom supplies, she found all of her clocks set to 4:14 a.m. When she returned from a home store two hours’ drive away, every piece of furniture was rotated 90 degrees. When she left for back to school night, she swore that she heard laughter coming from somewhere upstairs.

  
Three days later, her body was wheeled out with the strangest set of injuries anyone in the relatively quiet town had ever seen.

  
It was certainly enough to catch Dean Winchester’s attention. The woman had been hanged from a ceiling fan by nothing but her hair, a feat that would have been remarkable in most cases, but was even more so because this particular ceiling fan was just shy of two dozen feet off the ground, and there was no sign of a ladder (or indeed another person) to be found.

  
Had it not been for these details, Dean would not have traveled all day in the ‘67 Impala that technically belonged to his father, and he certainly would not have pulled himself away from the waitress at the bar as soon as the sun set. But enough bloggers had gotten hold of the story and the search engine gods had decided to pull up those posts for him, and so he had gotten into the car and ended up trying to pick the lock on the late Ms. Wright’s front porch.

  
To be perfectly honest, Dean didn’t have a clue how to pick a lock. He also could barely shoot a gun straight, barely had a full shaker of salt on him, and was a bit fuzzy on whether vampires were supposed to be staked or beheaded. Of course, he was pretty sure that this was just a normal ghost, so the last item on the list wasn’t all that big of a deal.

  
He was just about to give up and just break the door down when it swung open, taking his lock pick with it. That was odd. The lock hadn’t given any indication of submitting to his efforts. Then again, he had never tried to pick a lock before, so maybe that was how it’s supposed to work.

  
The house hadn’t been touched since the police finished with the crime scene. The spotlights and lift that had been set up were still there, but everything was powered off. Clearly they hadn’t been too worried about someone breaking into the house.

  
Dean stopped in his tracks as soon as he got through the door. There was something wrong with the house. The temperature inside was a good ten degrees cooler and Dean swore that he could hear someone in the next room, even though the house was off limits and notorious for fatal accidents. Still, if he could get the door open and was dumb enough to go in, why not someone else?

  
The other, more likely, option was that the ghost was still in the house. Dean had read all about the signs of a haunting, and this fit. The unearthly chill, the fact that the LCD displays on the clocks and appliances were starting to blink on and off, and the fact that the door had just swung closed behind him and locked.

  
Dean swore to himself. He should have seen that coming. If the elders would let him train as a real hunter, he would never have let that happen. But they were convinced, because he was a legacy, that he needed to become great Man of Letters. Dean had even tried to go with their grand plan for a while, but he heart was never in sitting in a library and reading musty old books until the cows came home. He wanted to be out in the real world, actually doing something with what he learned.

  
The crackling sound of malfunctioning electronics became more persistent, and Dean pulled out his gun, ready to defend himself. It was loaded with iron bullets, which were just about the best thing against a spirit as far as he knew. At least, anything iron was supposed to get rid of it in no time flat.

  
Keeping the gun up, Dean backed up against a wall to get some cover from behind. With his free hand, he groped in the darkness for something else to use as a weapon. His bullets wouldn’t’ last forever. His fingers finally closed around a curtain rod that was still waiting to be mounted to the wall.

  
It wasn’t a moment too soon, because he had only just felt the plaster against his jacket when a decorative gourd flew from above the fireplace. It hit the wall an inch away from his head with enough force that it exploded. Dean jerked back in shock and glanced around wildly to figure out where the ornamental projectile had come from.

  
The adrenaline pumping through his veins took over, and Dean dashed away from the front door, firing off a few shots to cover himself. There didn’t seem to be any effect, but there were no more flying knickknacks for the moment.

  
He got as far as the kitchen when the assault started up again. Though he fired off several shots, the bullets didn’t seem to have much of an effect. He must have been a worse shot than he thought. Or the bullets weren’t working as intended at all.

  
It wasn’t long until he was completely out of bullets without accomplishing anything but blowing a few decently sized holes in the cabinets. He was going to have to call Sam. That was almost a worse thought than just letting the ghost get him. Sammy had always been his dad’s favorite. Sam knew how to follow orders. No matter what John Winchester needed done, he knew that his younger son would be able to deliver.

  
But it couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t as if Dean had the option of sneaking out the back door. He wasn’t even entirely sure that there was a back door. All he could do was get over his pride and hope that Sam answered the phone.

  
***

  
The phone on the desk buzzed loudly, skittering across the stacks of papers because of the vibrations. Sam Winchester jumped and almost swatted it off the desk in his haste to answer it. This was partially because phones were no longer allowed in the headquarters, but mostly because he had been hoping for this call all day. “Dean?”

  
“Hey, Sammy.” It was definitely his brother at the other end of the line, and he was definitely not doing the research that he was supposed to be.

  
“Dean, where are you? Dad has been calling you all day.” Both John and Sam had been trying to get ahold of Dean since they had realized he was gone that morning.

  
“I don’t have my phone with me,” said Dean. A blatant lie if there ever was one.

  
“Fine, I don’t have that phone with me. Could you look something up for me?”

  
“You’re out hunting again, aren’t you?” Sam wished that it were hard to believe. The elders had told Dean time and time again that hunting was best left to the thugs who trained for that sort of stuff. But every time there was a rumor of something nearby, Dean would swipe the keys to their dad’s Impala and get himself into some awful sort of trouble.

  
“Yeah, arrest me.”

  
“There’s not going to be any of you left to arrest if you keep doing this crap.”

  
“Is there anyone else around?”

  
Sam glanced around the empty room. “Just me. Dad and the others are in some sort of meeting.”

  
“And they didn’t ask you to come along?”

  
“I’m not a full member yet.”

  
“That doesn’t mean you can’t do research, does it?”

  
“No.”

  
“Great. I really need your help on this one.”

  
“What is it?” Sam sighed heavily and pulled out a journal from under the stack of decaying papers that he had been reading in between nervous glances at the phone that had remained unresponsive for so long. Until a month ago, the journal had belonged to Henry Winchester, their grandfather. But after he had passed, the book went to Sam. At least the old man had the sense to make sure that Dean didn’t get his hands on it. The older Winchester would never come home if he didn’t need to visit the library to avoid getting killed by the nearest monster.

  
“I’ve got a bit of a ghost problem.”

  
“Define ‘a bit’.”

  
“She’s trying to kill me and I’m armed with a curtain rod.”

  
“Is it iron?”

  
“How am I supposed to know?”

  
“I’m trying to be helpful, Dean.”

  
“Then tell me how to kill this bitch!” There were increasingly worrying sounds coming from the his end of the line.

  
“What’s happening?” Sam demanded.

  
“She’s throwing things at me.”

  
“Are you sure you aren’t talking about your ex?” Even though Sam was joking around, he was also frantically flipping through the large collection of documents that he had amassed that afternoon. He was sure that vengeful spirits had been mentioned somewhere. “Okay, Dean, I…” There was silence at the other end of the line. “Dean?” Still nothing.

  
Sam put his phone down slowly and looked around the library. Nobody was there but him. Whatever the meeting was about must have been important. “I’m going to regret this…” Sam muttered. He had promised himself that he would stay out of Dean’s ridiculous hunting expeditions in favor of doing research that actually helped people. But all the same, he grabbed his coat and his grandfather’s journal and headed out of the library.

  
In a room down the hall there was something that resembled a perilously under stocked apothecary. There were beakers and tubs of several rare ingredients, but the more common things were constantly absent because of overuse. Thankfully the spell that Sam intended to use didn’t require much of anything that he didn’t have stashed away somewhere.

  
All it took was a few pinches of various herbs and rather more blood than Sam liked to spill to make the spell work. After wrapping a bandage around the cut, he set to work drawing the sigil on the wall. There was a plank of wood left for exactly this sort of thing. The Men of Letters knew how to design a functional headquarters if nothing else.

  
Once the sigil was drawn, it began to glow. From an outside perspective, it looked like little more than a pattern made of fresh embers, but for Sam the light seemed to fill every corner of the space.

  
Until it didn’t and he was suddenly not in the old building in Normal, Illinois but the dark and partially remodeled house in a town just outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota that he had caught his brother researching a few days previously.

  
“Sam! Where did you come from?”

  
“Where d’you think I came from? Now come on before you get us both killed.” Sam was doing all that he could to keep the portal open, but it wasn’t easy work for someone with as little experience as he had. He would only be able to keep it up for another minute or so, and that was only if he was able to focus.

  
“Why didn’t you bring a gun?”

  
“Why would I think to bring a gun? Where would I even get a gun?”

  
“I have a gun.” Dean waved the weapon around as if to prove its existence.

  
“And that turned out to be so useful.”

  
“I can only carry so many iron bullets!”

  
“And the curtain rod?”

  
“Aluminum.”

  
“Right. Nice going.” In spite of his best efforts, the portal slid closed, snuffing out the small amount of light that it had let into the room. Dean didn’t seem to notice.  
“At least I’m trying to use what we know to help people. I don’t see you doing that.”

  
“Yeah, but you’re you, Dean, and I’m the one who actually gets that we aren’t supposed to be out here getting in the way of hunters.”

  
“You got that right,” a gruff voice said behind them. If Sam had been the kind to jump at surprises, his head would have gone through the ceiling. As it was, he spun around to see who had just joined them. He was faced with a man significantly shorter and older than him in a trucker cap and with a shotgun that Sam happened to be in the way of.

  
“Who are you?”

  
“Get down.”

  
Sam dropped to the ground in time to hear the shotgun fire and the ghost let out a muffled scream. Dean was looking at the man in wide-eyed awe. He was a hunter. A real hunter.

  
“Now that we’ve got that settled, what the hell are you two doing here?”

  
“Is it gone?”

  
“For now.”

  
“Thank you.”

  
“You can thank me after you answer my question.”

  
“We were just leaving.” Sam reached down and pulled Dean up from where he was crouched, still staring up at the man in the trucker cap. Honestly. Dean needed to get over his hero-worshiping of hunters.

  
Sam was just about to turn around and drag his brother out of the house when the temperature in the room dropped. There was no one there, but Sam was sure that he could feel a hand around his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until he couldn’t fit an atom of oxygen into his lungs. He clawed at his neck to break the iron grip, but it was no use. He couldn’t see them, but the fingers of the ghost were wound directly around his windpipe, and trying to rip away the flesh that covered it would help nothing.

  
The room slowly faded to black and Sam was dimly aware that he was falling before he wasn’t aware of anything at all.


	2. Chapter Two

Sam was woken rather abruptly by a face full of cold water and the sudden pain of someone slicing a large gash in his arm with a knife. When his eyes snapped open, he was faced with an entirely unfamiliar space. The walls were covered in some sort of red wallpaper, and there were so many papers strewn around that Sam could almost have mistaken it for his corner of the library. Almost. And he also noticed with more than a little annoyance that he was tied to a chair in the middle of a devil’s trap.

“Good, you’re awake.” 

The events of what Sam hoped was the previous night came flooding back. The ghost, the hunter who was now standing in front of him with a glass bottle of water and a silver knife, the ghost that ended up knocking him and Dean out before they could get out of the house. 

The hunter turned away from Sam and performed the same tests on Dean, who was tied up nearby. He woke up in the same way that Sam had.

Sam turned his attention to the ropes that were wrapped around his limbs, but it was obvious after a few moments of struggling that he didn’t have a chance against them. He turned to the hunter. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Why do you care?” The hunter had left Dean, who was looking around the room in undisguised excitement, and started to clean off his knife.

“Just curious.” 

“Bobby Singer,” he said after a moment of thought, “And who are you two?”

“I’m Sam and he’s Dean. Where are we, exactly?”

“My house.”

“You live near the house?”

“Near enough. Couldn’t leave you two idjits to get yourselves killed.” The second was a response to Sam’s unspoken question of why they were there in the first place. 

“Thanks for that.”

“Just don’t expect me to pull you out next time.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time.” The comment was directed more at Dean than Bobby.

“Well, thank God for that. You two have to be the worst set of hunters I’ve ever seen.”

“We aren’t hunters.”

“No surprise there.”

“Could you maybe untie us now?”

Bobby wiped the last of the blood off of the knife and jammed it into the rope that was holding one of Sam’s arms in place. The tip jammed into his arm after cutting away one layer, drawing more blood. If things continued at this rate, he was going to have to raid every drug store in Normal for bandages. At least he was finally able to get out of the ropes.

Once he and his brother were able to stand up, Sam was able to get a better look around the place. Besides the books and empty bottles that littered the room, there were several stacks of weapons, and smears of what looked like dried blood. The house definitely belonged to a hunter. 

“Listen, thank you for everything you’ve done for us, and I know we just met, but could I ask you for one more favor?”

“What?” It didn’t sound like it was particularly okay with Bobby at all, but he didn’t stop Sam from asking.

“Could we have some money for bus fare? Our car is back outside the house.”

“I saw. Towed it back with you. I’ll go get it down.” He started to leave the room. “Oh, and don’t touch any of the décor or it’ll kill you.”

“It will kill us?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, it’s all loaded.”

Dean jerked back from the revolver that he had been poking with extreme interest. Once Bobby had left the room, he turned to Sam with a smile fitting a five year old at his first baseball game. “He’s a hunter.”

“Yeah, Dean, I got that.” It was all Sam could do not to roll his eyes. 

“A real hunter.”

“What’s your point?”

“How cool is that?”

“It’s great.” 

“That’s all you have to say about it?”

“What are you so excited about? You’ve met hunters before.”

“Yeah, the ones that the elders approve of,” Dean scoffed. “Those guys probably don’t bother with anything unless the elders tell them to.”

“Why is this guy any different?”

“He’s not taking orders from anybody. Lone wolf. Man after my own heart.” Dean shook a fist emphatically and stared off into a space somewhere over Sam’s shoulder.  
“Dean, you’re not a hunter!” Sam felt like a broken record, having to tell this to his brother once again. 

“I read up on lore, I go out, and I kill the evil sons of bitches. What about that makes me not a hunter?”

“The fact that you suck at it.”

“Shut up.”

“You asked.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Bobby came back in, dangling the keys to the Impala in his fingers. “Nice car you’ve got out there.”

“Thanks.” Dean snatched the keys before Sam could make a move for them. 

“Whoever gave it to you is a moron.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Sam shot a look at Dean, who still had the ridiculous smile on his face. 

Sam took the keys as soon as they got to the car. “There is no way that you’re driving.”

“Aw, come on, Sammy. What do you think I’m gonna do?”

“Drive in the wrong direction so that you don’t have to deal with Dad.”

Dean tried to think up a comeback, but came up blank. He hadn’t realized that he was considering it until Sam pointed it out. “Fine.” He tossed the keys over the car and got into the passenger seat. They must have been out for a while, because the inside of the car was already swelteringly hot from the late summer sun.  
They had been on the road for five minutes before Dean spoke again. “So, lay it on me.”

“What?”

“You’re just dying to tell me how you told me so, and how I always get myself into trouble when I hunt, and how you’re so much smarter than me.”

“Sums it up, yeah.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

Sam finally took his eyes off the empty road for a moment. “Get tired of what?”

“Them making us learn all of this stuff without being able to actually use it.”

“We are using it.”

“We’re giving it to other people who may or may not be sitting around with a glass of scotch, writing crap novels about what they’re supposed to be hunting.”

“What are you trying to get me to say, Dean? That I want to join you and get myself killed? Because I don’t.”

“Well, you’re the one who deal with all that research.” Dean turned to look moodily out the window. 

“It’s not like you can’t do it, too. You just never try.”

“Sitting around in a library trying to read something that someone wrote a hundred thousand years ago? No thanks.” 

“You know, maybe if you’d actually do what you’re told for once, the elders wouldn’t be so against you doing some hunting.”

“That’s bull and you know it.” 

The brothers lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. The road stretched out in front of them, shimmering with heat. The air conditioning barely took the edge off the sweltering temperature in the Impala, but neither made a move to open a window. There was still a cassette in the tape deck, but it must have run out when Dean was driving up from Normal, because no sound could be heard beyond the growl of the engine. 

“What are you going to say when we get back?” Sam asked suddenly.

“I don’t know.”

“’Cause you know they’ll eat you alive, right?”

“With this handsome face?” Dean smiled mockingly at him. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“They’ll probably chain you to a desk for a month.”

“I get it, Sammy.”

“Just saying.”

“Why?” Any trace of good humor slid off of Dean’s face. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to lord it over me that you’re the perfect son?”

“Oh, come on, Dean. Don’t start that again.”

“No, I get it. You’re Dad’s favorite. Always follow his orders.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with—“

“Are you sure? Because it sure sounds like it.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe I do wish that you didn’t have such a problem with authority occasionally.”

“If they would just let me train, this would never have happened.”

“If you didn’t have the stupid idea that you’re a hunter in your head, it would never have had the chance to.”

“Well maybe I actually want to do something good for the world instead of sitting on my ass reading!”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with helping people, Dean. You’re just being selfish and shirking your responsibilities, common sense be damned.”

Another silence, this one longer and more hostile than before. Sam almost wanted to apologize, just to break the tension, but there was no way that he could without letting Dean off the hook. 

Finally, though, the silence became even more unbearable than the fighting. “Look, Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah you did.” Dean still wasn’t looking at his brother. Sam opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off. “And it’s not like you’re wrong.”

This time, Sam couldn’t think of a way to respond. 

“I just don’t get how you guys can stand it.”

“We just do.” Sam shrugged. “Think about what you’ll be able to do once you get past all the reading if it helps.”

“Just not my thing, Sammy.”

“Suit yourself then.” 

The rest of the hours long ride to Dean’s imminent doom was spent in silence.


	3. Chapter Three

John Winchester had almost fallen asleep where he sat when he heard the familiar growl of his Impala. He wasn’t sure how he could have dosed off, both of his sons had gone missing after all, but there he was, almost asleep in the middle of the afternoon. Even Mary, his wife, was doing more to find Sam and Dean. Maybe he just knew them well enough that he could figure that there was no way to get them home if they weren’t ready to come. 

It was a second after the engine died out that John finally decided to go outside. Mary was already next to the car with her arms wrapped around her older son, pinning his arms to his sides. “What the hell were you thinking?” She finally released him while Dean was still trying to form an answer through the shock of not being yelled at and turned to Sam. “And I expected better from you.” But the stern look only lasted a second before she was hugging him too. And though no one noticed, there was also just a bit of pride hiding behind the annoyance. Hunting was the family business for her as much as being a Man of Letters was for John. 

“Dad.” Dean’s face dropped more, if that were possible, when he realized that his father was standing there. He had been hoping to get a little time to figure out a story before this moment.

“You’re coming inside. Now.” John ignored his younger son so that he could send a death glare at the older one. 

Dean glanced at his mother and brother, but neither would meet his eye. Neither could entirely disagree with what John was going to say. Dean gave them glares almost identical to John’s, then turned back to the other man. He had no choice but to follow his father inside.

Sam watched the two men retreat back into the brick building. “He’s going to kill him, isn’t he?” Though it was phrased like it, it was hardly a question. It would be a miracle for Dean to make it out alive.

“Probably,” said Mary. “Now, come on. The elders want to see you.”

“What for?” The elders only ever called on him for exams, and he knew that he wasn’t even close to having another one. 

“I don’t know. You know they don’t tell me things. Now go. I’ll make sure that he gets out in one piece.”

“Thanks.” Sam gave her one last apologetic smile and headed into the building, leaving Mary alone next to the Impala. She sighed and shifted some gravel around with the toe of her boot. Maybe she should get a job. Not that they needed the money, but at least then she wouldn’t spend all day hanging around people who weren’t quite sure what to do with her. And the experience would be nice. Training as a hunter hadn’t left much time for running the register at fast food joints. 

Inside, Sam had just passed the room that John had led Dean into. It was quiet in there. Almost too quite for Sam’s liking, but he knew that barging in would be a bad idea, and he didn’t really want to deal with his dad at the moment. He hadn’t done anything to warrant John’s wrath, but when he was in this state, anyone was liable to get caught in the crossfire. 

Dean, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than for his brother to interrupt the lecture that he was being given. 

“What were you thinking?” John paced across the short width of the room, never quite looking at his son, who was sitting in an old armchair as if he had been taken prisoner. “You can’t just go wandering off like that.”

“You do realize that I’m not a teenager anymore, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why do you keep treating me like one?”

“Because you’re acting like one!” John could no longer control his anger and disappointment, and turned to shout at his son. 

“I’m sorry if I want to get out of here once in a while. Didn’t know that was a problem.”

“It’s the hunting we have a problem with, Dean. You’re going to get someone killed someday.”

“Yeah, or maybe I’ll stop someone from being killed.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Because you won’t let me figure it out!” Dean was also shouting now.

“Your job is to get information, that’s all.”

“Maybe I don’t want that job.”

“You’re a legacy. You don’t have a choice.”

“Why do you need me? You’ve got Sam to be your legacy.”

“I don’t make the rules.”

“Yeah, well I never agreed to follow them.” Neither spoke for a while, long enough that Dean started to feel uncomfortable with being so far blow his father’s eye level. “So, what have the elders decided I’m supposed to do to redeem myself? Clean the floors? Do everyone’s laundry for a week?”

“Believe it or not, they’re busy with things besides your delinquency.”

“So I’m off the hook?”

“So I get to decide.”

“I was afraid of that,” Dean muttered. “What do I have to do?”

“Stay in the library until you’ve done the research that you’re supposed to.”

“Yeah, well finishing isn’t going to happen because you keep throwing more books at me.”

“That’s the point.” Without waiting for Dean to protest any more, John grabbed a stack of books and papers off of a nearby table and loaded them off onto his son. Dean gave them a dirty look and left the room muttering something that John was glad he couldn’t hear. 

As soon as he heard the door to the library click shut, John fell down into the wingback armchair that Dean had just vacated. Why did everything seem to be falling apart recently? The order, his family, his life. It wasn’t just that Dean seemed to be going through a hunter phase, and really aren’t people supposed to stop going through phases once they get out of high school? Mary was miserable living in the house the order had provided them with. She didn’t have to say anything; he could tell that she wanted to have something that wasn’t controlled by the Men of Letters. 

He sighed and pulled himself out of the sagging cushions. He needed to go take care of the other thing that was in shambles: the order. For hundreds of years, the Men of Letters had operated like a well-oiled machine. But now that oil was running out. 

The meeting room was at the very end of the hallway. It was the oldest room in the building, and nobody had even attempted to modernize it over the years for fear that the wards that were built into the walls would be broken. 

There was one empty chair around the table in the center of the room, which Sam had apparently assumed wasn’t his for the taking. The youngest Winchester was leaning against the back wall, scanning the room with more than a little apprehension. 

John took his place at the table and waited for someone to start talking. When no one did, he broke the silence. “What’s going on?” 

“A few of our hunters have brought back disturbing news.” The man who spoke was called Thompson (no first name as far as John knew), and when he finally did say the words, they came out in a slow, somnolent way, completely devoid of emotion. “I believe that we are being hunted.”

The room remained silent. Sam almost opened his mouth to point out that it was ridiculous that any monster would even know about the Men of Letters, but he stopped himself in time, remembering that he wasn’t actually a part of this group. 

“What would be hunting us?” John was the only one who voiced the question, though clearly the rest were thinking it. 

“I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know that we’re being hunted?”

“Several of our hunters have been captured and interrogated recently about our whereabouts.”

“Did they say anything?”

“They performed admirably.” Thompson then turned to Sam. “We need you to find out all that you can about what is causing this.”

“What sort of things am I looking for?”

“Anything strange.”

Sam opened his mouth to point out that they only dealt with things that were considered strange, but thought better of it. He didn’t want a lecture about cheek. With a quick nod, he turned and left the room. 

The discussion didn’t resume until the door had been closed for a few seconds. There was something that they didn’t want Sam to know. John looked around the room uncomfortably. Though the others weren’t exactly thrilled with Sam being made a full member at such a young age, they had never purposefully withheld information as far as John knew. 

“There’s something else to this, isn’t there?” he asked after a moment. 

“There is. There is a possibility that demons could be involved.”

“Why is that a problem? The hunters should be able to deal with them.”

John shook his head morosely. “The demon that they described is like nothing that we have seen before.”

“Meaning?”

“It was not affected by exorcisms or any known means of killing demons.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a demon then.” 

Thompson furrowed his brow, as if the idea hadn’t crossed his mind. “The hunters seemed to be very sure.”

“They could have made a mistake. It’s hard to focus when you’re being tortured for information.”

“I suppose you know all about that,” Thompson remarked dryly. 

“I’ve got my sources.” Actually, John only had one source, and that was Mary, but the things that he had heard about hunting from her made his skin crawl. 

“I’m sure that you have. But the point remains: if there is a new form of demon, we are all in grave danger.”

_We’re always in grave danger_ , John thought, but he made sure to keep his mouth shut. Thompson had no sense of humor. 

“That will be all for today. If any of you have untapped sources of information, I urge you to check into them.” John swore that the mead of the order’s gaze rested on him for a split second longer than the others. He couldn’t think that Mary would know something about this. His wife had told him everything about the supernatural creatures she had encountered, and he had relayed everything to Thompson and the others. But then again, the others never trusted hunters that they didn’t have under their thumb.

John and Thompson were the last in the room. Before John had a chance to leave, the other man put a hand on his shoulder. “I trust that you know nothing about this?”

“How could I? You said it yourself, it’s a new form of demon.”

“I believe it to be a new species of demon, yes.” 

Had Thompson not been John’s superior in every way, he would have told him to get over himself. He would have told him that not liking someone was not a reason to not trust them. He would have pointed out that Mary had been involved for multiple decades and never done anything to make them question her loyalty. But all he did was say, “Then that must be it,” and try to ignore the angry glare as he left. 

Everyone else had already gone off to other rooms, so the hallway was empty. Hushed voices came from behind a few doors, and John was sure that at least one set was talking about what Thompson had insinuated about Mary, though he was probably just being paranoid. 

He paused when he reached the door to the library, considering going in to make sure that Dean was actually doing what he was told for once. But after a second of indecision, he continued to the front door. Sam would keep him in line, as much as anyone could.


	4. Chapter Four

“I’m surprised you’re still alive.” 

Dean looked up from the book that he had been glaring at for the past fifteen minutes. “Give me some credit, Sammy.” 

“It’s just that Dad looked like he was going to kill you.”

“Please. Dad couldn’t kill me.”

“Oh, that’s right. Because you’re a hunter.”

“Shut up.” Normally, the gibe would have been met with an equally sarcastic comeback, but normally Dean wasn’t being forced to play research assistant for his younger brother because of hunting. He had been sitting in the library since his father had dropped him there, and the sheer boredom of it all was enough to make him want to skip town for good. 

“So, have you found anything yet?” Sam asked after a second, flipping his own book shut. 

“No. No thanks to you.”

“I have been working. You’re just slow.”

“I am not slow!”

“How many books have you gotten through?”

“Two.”

“Exactly.”

“But you seriously don’t have anything?”

Sam shook his head. “I looked at news reports from everywhere they said the hunters were kidnapped from and…”

“And what?”

“And nothing. No mysterious deaths or disappearances. No cold spots or natural disasters. Just a lot bugs.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Bugs. ‘Iowa Farmer Loses Crop Overnight’… ‘Minnesota Community Reels At Loss’… ‘Family Farm Declares Bankruptcy’.” Sam read off the titles of the articles he had pulled up on his laptop. 

“Sounds like someone needs to get out the bug spray.”

“Yeah.”

“What sort of bugs are they?” Not that Dean really cared, but he would do anything to avoid reading another page of that book.

“Locusts.”

“Like plague on Egypt locusts?”

“As far as I can tell.” 

“So someone’s going all Moses on us?”

“The locusts are the eighth plague, though. I think someone would have mentioned if there were any rivers turning into blood.”

“Well, do you have anything better?”

“Abaddon.” Both Winchesters spun around to find the source of the new voice. It wasn’t that of one of the other Men of Letters, and no one besides their mother who wasn’t part of the organization ever set foot in headquarters. 

Their gazes finally rested on two men who had most definitely not been in the room a minute before. One was bald, wearing a dark suit, and looked a slightly psychotic. The other was wearing a tan trench coat and looked rather fed up with the whole situation. 

“Who are you and how the hell did you get in here?” Dean was groping around for something that could be used as a weapon, but all he could find were old books and ballpoint pens. He should have smuggled a knife into the library with him. John would have been pissed, but at least they wouldn’t be totally defenseless against these two creatures who were probably demons. 

Sam apparently had the same idea, because he had already started to mutter the exorcism ritual under his breath. Of course he still remembered it. Every Man of Letters was required to memorize it for his first test, but Dean had promptly forgotten it, and just kept a scrap of paper in his pocket in case he ran across any demons. 

“Oh, would you stop that? We’re not demons.” The bald one flicked his hand in Sam’s general direction. The younger Winchester tried to finish the ritual, but no sound came out of his mouth. He glanced around the room in alarm, trying to force some sound out of his throat, but nothing came. Sam looked to his brother for help, eyes wide and breath coming fast. He was a glorified researcher. These sorts of things weren’t supposed to happen. 

“What are you, then?” Dean met Sam’s eyes, his heart leaping into his throat. There was no way that something should have been able to do that in the headquarters. There were wards against every known type of monster in the world. Maybe what Sam had said about new types of demons hadn’t been too far from the truth. 

“We are angels of the Lord,” the one in the trench coat said. 

Of all possible things, Dean had not been expecting that. “Sorry, what?”

“We are warriors of Heaven, created by—“

“Yeah, yeah, I got that.”

“Then why did you ask what I meant?” Trench coat tilted his head to the side in confusion. 

By this point Sam was starting to make wild gestures to get the attention of the others. 

“Oh, fine.” The bald one waved his hand again and Sam was finally able to speak.

“I still do not understand the nature of your question.” Trench coat was still tilting his head and staring at Dean with out blinking. The older Winchester was starting to feel a little uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the bright blue eyes. 

“He doesn’t believe us.” The bald one answered for Dean. 

“Yeah, because angels don’t exist.”

“Of course we exist. How could you not believe what is directly in front of you?” Trench coat said. Dean really wished that he would blink. Or look away. Or at least straighten his head out, because it was getting really unsettling. 

“News flash, you guys aren’t the only ones who could pop up in here.” Dean wasn’t quite sure why he decided on that particular lie. 

“Of course we are. You think that your security measures escaped our notice?” The bald one snapped. 

“So who are you then?” Sam was already running through a list of every angel he could remember. Maybe the bald one was Michael, or Gabriel, or—

“Zachariah.”

“Nice to meet you.” Sam actually wasn’t all that thrilled with having two angels standing in the middle of the library, but pissing them off didn’t seem to be the best course of action. 

“The pleasure’s all yours, believe me.” 

“And you are?” Dean forced himself to look back at Trench coat, who still looked confused. At least he had straightened his head out. 

“Castiel.” 

“Okay, so say you are angels. Why are you here?” Sam asked. 

“You’re looking for Abaddon, we’re looking for Abaddon. Thought we could collaborate.” Zachariah shrugged. There was something about the way he was talking that didn’t exactly inspire trust. 

“So you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?” Dean asked incredulously. 

“Is that so hard to believe? We are angels, after all.” Zachariah directed a sarcastic matter-of-fact look at the older Winchester. 

“Yeah, and every other thing I’ve met that isn’t human hasn’t been so keen on helping out.”

“We are tasked with protecting our Father’s creation,” Castiel said. “Our orders are to help humanity.”

“And you actually do what you’re told?” Sam was having a hard time believing that, but it could have been because he had to deal with his older brother so much. 

Castiel turned the confused gaze on Sam. “Of course we do.”

“Are you three done yet?” Zachariah rolled his eyes at them. He felt as though he were dealing with children. 

“Of course.” Castiel dipped his head a bit and retreated a few steps to give Zachariah the floor.

“Good.”

“So why are you here?” Sam asked. 

“I was just getting to that. As awful as it sounds, we have come to… request your cooperation in certain matters.” Zachariah looked disgusted. 

“Cooperation? You mean you need our help.” Dean would have laughed if he hadn’t been fairly certain that Zachariah was a second away from killing both him and Sam. 

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” 

“Why would angels, assuming that’s what you are, need our help?”

“I said that I wouldn’t go that far, and neither should you.”

“This is about he plagues, isn’t it?” Dean asked, feeling extremely intelligent. It was good feeling. Maybe Sam and his father had the right idea about a few things after all. 

“What are you talking about?”

“The swarms of locusts. There have been others too, am I right? Someone’s unleashing the biblical plagues.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Nobody is attempting to bring the angel of death on us all.”

“What is it then?”

“Don’t you listen?”

“You never told us.”

“Abaddon.”

“What’s an abaddon?” Dean didn’t recognize the word. Maybe that was what the angels were calling the thing Sam said the elders had mentioned. 

“Not _an_ abaddon. It’s a name.”

“Abaddon is a demon,” Castiel said.

“Wait, I think I read something about that!” Sam started over to the table to find the book, but suddenly found himself standing right where he had started.  
“Yes, I’m sure that you did, but considering that we all know what we need to, let’s skip all of that.” Zachariah looked incredibly bored, and more than a little annoyed with how slow the humans were being. 

“So you want us to hunt Abaddon?” Dean couldn’t conceal the excitement in his voice. 

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“But why aren’t you contacting hunters?” Sam cut in. All he wanted to do was sit in the library with his books, not get involved in what was starting to sound like one of Dean’s fantasies. 

“Hunters wouldn’t be able to handle this demon.”

“But glorified bookworms can?” Dean asked. 

“You have resources that you can use to find the best way to kill Abaddon.”

“Why do angels need our help, though?” Sam would have thought that something like an angel would know everything there was to know about demons.  
“Research is best left to people who are used to it.” Zachariah wrinkled his nose at the prospect. He could read all the books in the library in the space of an afternoon, but that didn’t mean he had any desire to. 

“I don’t know, Cas here looks like a nerd of the highest order.” Dean wished that he could take back what he’d said at once. Talking to an angel like that sounded like a good way to get smote. 

But Castiel didn’t seem to take any issue with it. He just tilted his head to the side and fixed Dean with another piercing stare. “I don’t understand that reference.”

“But you do know that we have a strict ‘no hunting’ policy, right?” Sam turned the conversation to the much more pressing issue of the demon, and that the angels were definitely asking the wrong people for assistance. Hunting and being a Man of Letters were mutually exclusive occupations. 

“You might, but I don’t,” Dean said. 

“Yeah, you do, Dean.” Sam shot him a stern look. It was his job to make sure that his older brother actually started acting like a man of letters, and he wasn’t going to let some angels (or whatever they were) get in the way of that. 

“Hey, if angels are telling us to hunt, who are we to argue?” The smile on Dean’s face told Sam that he would have started hunting even if all he had to hunt with was a water gun. 

“You’re awfully willing to accept that they’re angels now.”

“I am surrounded by infants.” Zachariah looked like he was doing his very best not to vaporize the place. “If you are quite done, we have somewhere to be.”  
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but the faint sound of wings filled the room too quickly, and they were gone.


	5. Chapter Five

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Bobby Singer rolled his eyes to the ceiling, praying for the strength to not jump through the telephone and strangle the man on the other end of the line. 

“Tell me how to kill it!” Rufus Turner’s voice came over the line in breathy spurts, like he was currently running away from the zombie that he was supposed to be killing.

“Do you know where it was buried?”

“Yeah.”

“Then stick it back in the box and be done with it!”

“Bobby, I—“

“I gotta go.” Bobby hung up the phone without waiting for Rufus to respond, wide eyes fixed forward in shock. His fingers curled around the silver knife that he’d taken to keeping on him, but he didn’t even think to draw it. “What are you two doing here?”

Sam and Dean Winchester were once again standing in the middle of his living room, looking around as if they were just as surprised that they were there as Bobby was. 

“Didn’t I tell you to get lost?” Though the more obvious question of how they had appeared in the room at all and who the strange men with them were did occur to him, Bobby was almost positive that he was nowhere near drunk enough to have that conversation.

“We tried. We really did.” Sam put his hands up and backed up a few steps. 

“Well, try harder.” Bobby paused for a second to take in the other two men who were taking up space in his living room. “Who are these clowns?”

“Angels of the lord,” Zachariah said arrogantly.

“Yeah, right.”

“Do I look like I’m lying?”

“Angels don’t exist, genius.”

“They actually are angels,” Sam said. 

Bobby turned back to the Winchesters. “Do you idjits exist to give me trouble?”

“It’s not like it’s our fault that—“ Dean started.

Bobby didn’t wait for him to finish. “Get out.”

“And why would we do that?” Zachariah asked.

“Because it’s my house and I don’t care if you’re the Lord God Himself.”

“You have no idea how much I would love to leave.” Zachariah paused to look disdainfully around the room, regarding every empty bottle and grubby piece of paper as if it were a pool of slime. “But unfortunately, we need you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested.” 

“You don’t have a choice, Mr. Singer.” Proving that he did, in fact, know Bobby’s name had probably been an attempt to intimidate the hunter with his knowledge, and Zachariah looked more than a little annoyed that it didn’t have an effect. Bobby Singer had met too many telepathic monsters to be bothered by it. 

“Why can’t you get some other hunter to deal with these two?”

“We have our reasons.” 

“And those are?”

“Not yours to question,” Castiel interrupted. 

Zachariah shot a quick look at his subordinate that shut the angel up fairly quickly. “There are certain… circumstances that have put us in a rather awkward position. We have decided that the most pertinent course of action would be to ask for assistance.”

“And why have you got these two?” Bobby indicated Sam and Dean with a jerk of his head. 

“They are the ones that we have come to for help.”

“With hunting? Have you seen them?”

“We are aware that their skill may be a bit… lacking.”

“Try ‘nonexistent’.”

“But that,” Zachariah said a little louder, “is why we have come to you.”

“You’re asking me to turn them into hunters?”

“I’m telling you to, not asking.”

“They couldn’t be hunters if they trained their whole damn lives for it.”

“We’re right here, you know,” Dean said.

“I don’t care.” Bobby shot back to dean. 

“That’s not my problem,” Zachariah said.

“It is if you want to use them.”

“You’ve got one week.” Without waiting for an answer, Zachariah disappeared with only the slightest sound of feathers cutting through the air.

Bobby stared at the spot that Zachariah had been standing and tried to figure out exactly what had happened. He couldn’t honestly pinpoint the moment that the angel had disappeared. And really? An angel? And one who was dumb enough to think that the Winchesters could be turned into hunters in a week? “What have you boys gotten yourselves into?”

“No clue.” Sam looked around nervously. “I know it’s kind of a long shot, but do you think that you could teach us a little bit, just so the angels don’t kill us.”  
“So they really are angels?”

“Far as I can tell.” Sam shrugged.

“Any idea why they brought you here?”

“No.”

“We witnessed what happened last night,” Castiel said, much to everyone’s surprise. He had been standing quietly in the corner, and Sam and bobby at least had completely forgotten that he was even in the room. “If you have any other questions, I would be happy to answer them.”

“All right, then. Why us?” Sam turned to the angel. 

“I do not know.”

“Come on, you have to have some idea.” Dean tried to coax an answer out. 

“Zachariah is my superior. It is my duty to follow his orders, even if I don’t understand them.” Sam wasn’t sure, be he swore that Castiel wasn’t looking him in the eye when he answered. 

“What about the elders? They’re going to wonder what happened to us.”

“I left them a note as to your whereabouts.”

“So that’s all they’ve got?”

“That is all that I am allowed to give them.”

“Are you sure that you’re telling us everything?” Sam asked when Castiel continued to refuse to meet his eye. 

“Of course.” Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “If you will excuse me, I must go receive revelation. My garrison will need to be prepared if the threat is as great as Zachariah says.” There was another rush of air against feathers, and the other angel disappeared. 

***

“Sam? Dean?” John entered the library, stepping as lightly as he could. If his sons were in the middle of something, he didn’t want to interrupt them, but he hadn’t heard a single word from the room in over an hour, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Dean had managed to slip away again. 

What he found was not something that he could have predicted. The library was completely empty except for a mess of books and a laptop balanced precariously on top of them on Sam’s table. There was a set of notes in Sam’s neat printing and one in Dean’s less legible scrawl. But neither of the brothers was anywhere to be found. 

John started to look through the research materials. There was nothing to tell him what had happened. Sure, there were articles and books on nearly every creature that Sam could have considered for the source of their troubles, but there was no order to them, nothing to indicate that he had settled on anything. 

Except for one thing, that was so out of the ordinary that John didn’t even consider it as part of the larger mess or research. There was a book on another table, placed carefully in the center and open of a page in the middle. Covering most of the crease between the pages was a note written on creaseless, white paper in thin, spidery handwriting: “The creature is called ‘Abaddon.’ This is all the information that you will need. Your sons are safe.”

“What the hell?” John muttered. The handwriting wasn’t that of anyone he knew, and it was traced so lightly on the page that it almost seemed as if the writer wasn’t entirely sure about how to hold a pen. 

Though whatever had caused Sam and Dean to disappear hadn’t been loud enough to rouse them, apparently John’s barely audible exclamation was. Within a minute, a good number of the elders had joined him in the library. Nearly all of them stopped short when they saw that the boys weren’t in the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thompson stared aghast at the library. John wasn’t completely sure whether he was talking about the empty chairs or the mess of abused papers. 

“I’m not sure. They were gone when I got in here.” John remembered that he was still clutching the note had he had found, probably to vent some of the irritation that Thompson always seemed to bring out in him without actually attacking the elder. “Also, I found this.” 

Thompson looked at the note for a second before taking it, as if he were worried that it would explode when he touched it. “Who is this from?” he asked after reading the few lines.

“It was here when I came in.” 

“Where?”

John indicated the book. Thompson crossed the room in a few long strides and stood over the volume, eyes darting quickly over the lines of information. “Have you read this?” he asked sharply.

“I was going to when you walked in.”

“You should not have waited so long. We don’t have much time.”

“What does it say?”

“That unless we contact our hunters, we will all be slaughtered.” Thompson’s voice had risen several decibels over the course of the sentence, until he was practically shouting by the time the final words left his mouth. 

“But what is it?” John was doing all he could to stop the volume of his voice from matching that of the chief elder.

“It is a demon of incredible power.” Thompson’s voice was suddenly soft again. But in spite of the low volume, everyone in the room heard him. A low murmur swept through the air. 

“What are we going to do?” Someone standing near the back of the room was the first to speak up. “The hunters are all over the country. They’ll never make it here in time.”

The first comment opened a floodgate. The panic that the news of a demon attack had caused burst through in a clamor of voices so thick that nobody could actually be understood, making all of the hysterical questions somewhat pointless. Thompson yelled over everything for silence, but nobody could hear him.

But then a hush fell over the room. Slowly, every set of hysterical eyes slid to the door that led to the main hallway. John was one of the last ones to look to see what was going on.

“What are you doing here?” Thompson barked.

Mary shrugged. “I heard yelling.” She started to walk farther into the room. A few of the elders backed away from her with repulsed expressions they couldn’t entirely conceal.

“This doesn’t concern you.” Thompson tried to drive her back with a hard stare, but she barely seemed to notice him.

Once she was nearly rubbing shoulders with the rest of them, Mary stopped and turned to John. “What’s going on?”

John opened his mouth, but no words came out. If Thompson didn’t want Mary to know about what was going on, there was nothing he could do. He shut his mouth again and shook his head. 

“All right then.” Mary gave him a glare that immediately made him regret following orders before turning to the book that Thompson was guarding. The elder tried to protest, but Mary would have none of it, and didn’t even bother to tell him to be quiet. “So you’ve got a demon on your hands.”

“Mrs. Winchester, I must ask you to leave!” Thompson looked scandalized enough that one would have thought that Mary had come into the library with a lighter.   
“That would be a mistake.” Mary hardly looked up from the book while she spoke. “You need my help.”

“We need nothing from you.”

“Why? Because I’m a hunter? Or because you can’t stand to ask for help?”

“Because you cannot be trusted.” 

“You can deal with your trust issues later. Right now I need you all to listen to me.” She turned away from the book and looked over the crowd of elders. Every set of eyes was fixed on either Mary or Thompson. There was a very good chance that they had never heard anyone countermand him. “Good. Anyone know how to fight?” She was met with a sea of blank stares. “No? Okay. Well, that’s going to be lesson one. If this Abaddon thing wants something from you, it won’t come alone, and you will all die if you can’t defend yourselves.” She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, realizing that nobody was going to jump in and help her think up a way to get the group mobilized. “All right. First, everyone go find anything that can be used as a weapon. It’s not perfect, but if you can slow down the host enough to exorcise the demon, you’ve done your job. Also, find every rosary and jug that can hold water. And any spray paint you can get your hands on.” Nobody moved for a second. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go!”

They waited for another second before dispersing. Mary fell back against the table that held the book. What had she gotten herself into?

“Mary…” John seemed nervous to approach her.

“You should have backed me up.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Of course you could. You all just worship that guy too much to do anything about it when he’s being an idiot.”

“I was just wondering if there was anything you wanted me to do.”

“If you were listening you would know.”

“I meant me specifically.” In spite of being a Man of Letters, John had learned quite a bit more than he ever cared to let on from his wife about hunting.

“No. What we need more than anything right now is holy water, so if you would help with that instead of standing around talking to me, that would be great.” By this point, Mary had turned around to examine the book that contained information about Abaddon more closely. It was only partially because she wanted the information. What she really needed was an excuse not to look her husband in the eye. She wasn’t sure what it would do to her, but it would certainly be nothing good. This had turned into a hunting trip, and there was no room for emotions.


	6. Chapter Six

Shots rang out between the skeletons of old cars as Sam and Dean tried and failed to hit a target that Bobby had set up for them. Dean was a slightly better marksman than his brother, but he still had only hit the piece of wood a few times in the half hour since they started. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean jumped at the sound of the voice behind him, dropping the revolver that Bobby had given him. The gun went off when it hit the ground, creating a rather large scrape in the car that the bullet bounced off of before finally lodging itself in the center of the target. “What the hell?”

Castiel didn’t seem to notice Dean’s outburst and turned to his brother, dipping his head a bit as a greeting. “Sam.” 

Sam managed to keep his gun in his hands, but he also jumped at the sudden presence of the angel. 

“I need to speak with you.” Castiel didn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that he was currently staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“Yeah, kind of figured that.” Dean gave the revolver a wary glance before turning to face the angel completely. 

“What do you need?” Sam asked.

“The location of a storage facility.”

“A specific storage facility, or just somewhere to shove some crap for a few hours?” Dean asked.

“A specific storage facility.”

“Don’t think we can help you, then.”

“Why not?” Castiel tilted his head to the side.

“We don’t use anything like that.”

“But you are Men of Letters,” Castiel said, as if that meant that they were living versions of the Yellow Pages. 

“Yeah, doesn’t mean that we actually know anything.”

“But the storage facility that I am looking for belongs to you.”

“What do you mean, ‘belongs to us’?” 

“It is said that your organization has a warehouse that contains many powerful artifacts.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of it.”

“Why would they tell us about it anyway?” Sam cut in. “The elders are probably the only ones who would know.”

“I assumed that you would know.” Castiel furrowed his brow. He had clearly overestimated their involvement. 

“They don’t tell us anything,” Dean muttered.

“Perhaps this is good news. If you are unable to find it, Abaddon may have trouble as well.” Castiel seemed to be talking more to himself than he was to Dean, even though his eyes never left the older Winchester. 

“Why would Abaddon want to find some closet?”

“It is not a closet.”

“Whatever. Point is, why does Abaddon want it?”

“I do not know.”

“Bullshit.”

Castiel looked around nervously and then sighed when he was convinced that Zachariah wasn’t going to suddenly pop up and kill him. “There is an object there that would be… useful.”

“Well, we don’t know anything about it.”

“You could ask the elders,” Sam said. “I don’t know if they’ll tell you, but they must know something about it.”

“Very well.” Without warning, Castiel reached out and grabbed Dean’s arm. He barely had time to look at the angel in confusion before the air was filled with the sound of feathers and both of them disappeared.

Sam stared at the spot where Castiel had been standing for several seconds before his brain finally accepted what had happened. His brother had been kidnapped by an angel. Kidnapped by an angel while training to be a hunter. So that they could fight off some demon that was powerful enough that even angels needed help. It was shaping up to be a really stressful week. 

“When did I say you could stop—“ Bobby had noticed that the gunshots had stopped, and stopped short when he saw why. “Where’d your brother go?”

“I have no idea.” 

“Well he didn’t just disappear.”

“Actually, he did.”

“What?”

“There was this angel—“

“Balls.” Bobby looked like he had eaten something extremely unpleasant.

“What?”

“The angels already know where I live, you think I want them popping up and kidnapping people?” 

“Fair point.”

“If you’re not having too much fun with that target, I’ve got something to show you.”

Sam was all too happy to leave the pistol behind and follow Bobby back into his living room. There was even more clutter than before, and Sam couldn’t tell which books had been taken off the shelves to look at, and which had just been moved to make room for everything else. 

Bobby crossed the minefield of a room without even bothering to look at the floor, but Sam felt like he had to pick is way over every scrap of paper and glass bottle with the utmost care to avoid breaking anything.

“Are you gonna take all day?”

“Sorry.” He tried to hurry up, but only managed to leave a gigantic boot print in the middle of one of the books. As soon as he felt his foot collide with the spine, he jumped back, glancing up nervously to make sure that Bobby hadn’t seen. If the hunter had, he didn’t say anything about it. 

“Take a look at this.” 

Sam craned his neck to look over Bobby’s shoulder. His eyes darted over the paragraph that the hunter had indicated. “Wait, are you serious?”

“No, I wrote it up myself just to mess with you.”

“Are you sure that this is right?”

Bobby shrugged. “I trust the book more than I trust those angels.”

“Yeah….” Sam looked over the page again, not wanting to believe what he had read, and definitely not wanting to think about what it meant for his brother.


	7. Chapter 7

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean gasped as soon as he could feel solid ground below his feet again.

The angel paused a moment to consider the nickname. He had never been addressed with a truncated version of his name, but he was not as bothered by it as he thought he should have been. “It was the most expedient form of travel. I was unaware that it would bother you.”

“A bit of warning would have been nice.” It was at this moment that Dean realized that they weren’t alone in the room, and that a stunned silence had fallen on the large group of people who were staring at him and the angel with slightly open mouths. “Um… hi?”

“I believe an explanation is in order.” Castiel’s voice was low enough that only Dean could hear him. 

“Right.” Dean raised his voice so that the whole room could hear him. “So, this is Castiel. He’s an angel, and… What are you guys doing?”

Mary was the first one to stop staring at Cas. “What do you mean, an angel?” She stepped forward, gripping a revolver behind her back. 

“I mean an angel, sent from heaven to smite us all.” 

“I have no interest in smiting you.” Cas looked concerned that Dean would think that of him. 

“Dean, angels don’t exist,” Mary said gently, in the way that one would when revealing that Santa was not, in fact, the one who had been leaving all the presents underneath the tree. Not that she had ever done that with her kids. Living in a world where ghosts and pagan gods were pretty much par for the course had made Santa seem less like a whimsical childhood story and more like a reason to sit up with a loaded shotgun on Christmas Eve. She took another step forward and tightened her grip around the gun. 

“I can assure you that we are very real, and that shooting me will do nothing but wound my vessel.” 

“Sorry if I don’t believe you.” Mary whipped the gun out from behind her back. Before anyone could protest, she pulled the trigger and sent a bullet speeding directly into the so-called angel’s brain. 

Castiel swayed backwards a bit with the force of the bullet piercing his skull, but didn’t take a step backwards, and certainly didn’t fall over and die. The bullet had gone clear through the back of his head and lodged itself in the wall behind him. “I told you that a bullet would not injure me.”

Mary stared at the bullet hole in his head in disbelief as the wound began to close. “What are you?”

“I told you, I’m an angel.”

“Angels don’t exist.” But Mary didn’t seem entirely sure. 

“Dean, step away.” 

“What?” Dean hadn’t even realized that he was still within a foot of the angel. 

Castiel shot him a look that convinced Dean that asking questions was not a good idea. Dean took several large steps away and then turned to see what the angel was going to do.

The lights in the room started flickering, more than just the huge coincidence of every bulb in the room becoming faulty at the same time could explain. The elders, who had remained silent up until this point, started to mutter nervously among themselves.

Dean glanced wildly around the room for several seconds before his eyes finally passed over Castiel again, and then they stopped. Cas was standing perfectly still, eyes focused on some place far past anyone in the room. 

Except, that wasn’t exactly true. Though his arms and legs were locked and face a set mask, Castiel wasn’t completely still, because unfurling slowly behind him were two shadowy wings. 

Mary stared in shock, trying to rationalize what could be going on. As much as she wished it, this creature couldn’t be a ghost (because even though the electricity seemed to be failing, there was no deathly chill in the room), and the library was warded against demons and nearly every other creature that she had ever encountered. 

“Would you like some more proof?” Castiel asked dryly. 

Mary shook her head mutely. 

As Castiel drew his wings back in, the lights in the room returned to normal. There was no evidence that anything had even happened beyond the slack jawed looks on the faces of the elders and the bullet that was still lodged in the wall. 

Mary finally found her voice. “Where have you been?”

“What?” Castiel tilted his head at her.

“We have been dealing with demons for centuries with no divine help whatsoever, and now you’re telling me that you’ve been around this whole time and just haven’t done anything about it?”

“We did not deem it necessary.”

“So it never once occurred to you that you should maybe do your job as an angel?”

“We are warriors of heaven.” Castiel had straightened out his head and now fixed Mary with a deadly glare. “It is not our job to clean up the messes of humanity.” 

“What do you—“

“I am not here to be berated by a human who knows nothing of the workings of this world.” 

“Then why are you here?”

“I require the location of a storage facility of yours.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Thompson stood up, and if he was even the least bit surprised by the fact that an angel had just appeared in his library, his expression never shifted. 

“It would not be wise to lie to me. I am aware that you know the location of this facility, and I must insist that you tell me.”

“I am telling you that I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“The key is on a ring in your pocket. I could take it with force, but I would greatly prefer it if you would cooperate.” Castiel held out his hand, as if he half expected Thompson to actually comply for once in his life. 

“Why would I give it to you?”

“Because the fate of the world depends on it.” The line would have sounded tacky coming from anyone else, but coming from the angel it held every bit of urgency that it was intended to. 

Thompson hesitated, looking from the other elders to Castiel and back again, very clearly skipping over Mary.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Thompson, just give him the key!” Mary snapped after one too many moments of silence. 

“You have no right to make such demands. If you were truly dedicated to this cause, you would not question my decisions.” In spite of his resistance, Thompson’s hand had gone to his pocket to pull out the key ring in a seeming involuntary movement.

“If Abaddon reaches it first, the consequences will be more dire than anything I could cause,” Castiel said.

“I have no reason to believe you.” 

Mary rolled her eyes in exasperation, crossed the room, and snatched the key ring from Thompson, who had it almost halfway out of his pocket. She turned back to Castiel. “If you’re telling the truth.” She held out the key to him, but pulled her hand back when he reached for it. “And only if you’re telling the truth.”  
Castiel nodded solemnly. “I give you my word.”

Mary studied his face for several long moments, trying to find some trace of deception. She couldn’t believe that she was doing this. Her whole life had been dedicated to fighting monsters, not working with them. But there was something about Castiel that made her want to trust him. She held out the key ring and he took it gratefully. She turned to Dean. “Make sure that he keeps his promise.” Dean nodded, but secretly was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it if Castiel decided to betray them. 

“Thank you.” The angel gave Mary a small nod and then stepped to take hold of Dean’s arm once again. Mary looked back to gauge Thompson’s reaction to the situation, which she was happy to see was one of horror. In the space of her glance, the sound of feathers cutting the air filled the room, and Castiel and Dean were gone. 

After staring at the spot where Castiel had been standing for a second, Mary turned back to the hunters, pushing what had happened to the back of her mind. There would be time to process things later. “All right, all of you.” She put her hands on her hips and waited for the elders to look at her. “If you’ve finished with the bullets, we can move on to the next thing.”

“And what would that be exactly?” Thompson had regained him composure and was looking at her with an arrogant looked of feigned respect.

“Learning how to shoot them at things.” Mary reached over and grabbed a shotgun off a nearby table. “Now, I’m going to assume that none of you have any idea of how to shoot a gun. So. This is a shotgun. To load—“ She flipped the barrel down and jammed two rock salt rounds in “—put the bullets here. Then close it up, lock it, and prop it up against your shoulder. Left hand on the barrel, right on the trigger, safety off, aim by looking down the barrel.” It took all of her willpower to not fire off a few rounds, just to wake them up. Instead of tempting herself further, she put the gun back on the table. “Try it a few times and ask me if you have questions. And whatever you do, don’t fire. Rock salt won’t kill you, but it’ll sting to hell and back, and we don’t have the salt to waste.”

Several elders eyed the guns suspiciously before picking them up. And then they did, it looked like they were trying to make as little physical contact with them as possible. Mary let out a long breath and briefly touched her fingertips to her temples. She couldn’t afford to let them know, but she was sure that they were going to be massacred. 

***

Before Dean had a chance to register that he was taking another trip on Angel Air, the musty smell of the library was replaced with the equally musty smell of a forest. They were standing in the middle of a dirt road near a hill with what looked like a bunker built into it. “Dude, what did I say about giving me a warning?”

“I apologize.” 

“How did you know how to get us here, anyway? I thought you didn’t know where this thing is.”

“Once I was in possession of the key, it was simple matter to match it to its lock.”

“You can do that?”

“Also, it has the name of the town written on it, and I believed it to be a fairly educated guess that this storage facility would be the only one that was warded.” The side of Cas’ mouth quirked up in what almost looked like a smile. Dean couldn’t help but smile too, but because it was amusing just how funny the angel seemed to think he was. 

“You’re sure this is the right place then?”

“Can you think of another place that would be warded this heavily in the vicinity?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to… where are we?”

“Lebanon, Kansas.”

“There’s a place called Lebanon in Kansas?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, I’ve never been here.”

“So it would seem.” Cas began to walk swiftly towards the bunker.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to open the door. Unless you would like me to fly us both inside.”

“No, I’m good,” Dean said quickly. “But what if it’s booby trapped or something?”

“I’m an angel. I doubt that your traps would be able to injure me.”

Cas fumbled with the key for a minute before finally fitting it into the lock and turning it. Dean barley realized that he was holding his breath until the door swung open and he let out a sigh of relief that they hadn’t been immediately vaporized.

The angel went in first, not seeming to be bothered by the darkness, which left Dean to grope in the darkness for a light switch.

He had been expecting some sort of warehouse with a bunch of boxes labeled things like “Fragile: Doomsday device inside. Capable of turning abnormally tall humans into moose. This end up.” What he hadn’t been expecting was a rather tastefully furnished library filled with twenty-foot high bookshelves, swords in display cases, and a large conference table. Then again, it was a building owned by the Men of Letters, and if there was one thing that they liked, it was books.

Cas took in the scene for a moment before speaking. “I believe we have some work to do.”


	8. Chapter Eight

“Do you think there’s anything to it?” Bobby asked after Sam had finished reading the section of the book that the former had put aside for him.

Sam continued to stare at the book even after he had run out of words to read. On one page was the passage that the old hunter had pointed out to him, and on the other was an illustration. The creature pictured had angular features, horns that spiraled from two gnarled sockets, and a mangled wing attached to each shoulder blade. Below it was the relevant verse from the text and a label identifying it as Abaddon. The fallen angel. “There could be. But why wouldn’t the angels tell us about it?”

“Why the hell would they tell us? I wouldn’t want that thing associated with me if I were them.” 

“Yeah, but do you really think they’d be that proud? If this thing could destroy the whole world?”

“They’re angels. Pretty sure being proud is in the job description.” Bobby paused to take another swig of whiskey out of his flask. “Have you ever heard of something like this before?”

“I might have, actually. There are some legends that there was a group of angels that fell not long after Lucifer called the Grigori. Some stories say that they were sentenced to live in Hell because of who they’d sided with.”

“So you’re saying that everything we know about dealing with demons is gonna be useless.”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe they’ve been down there long enough that they went darkside. Would explain why the angels bothered to ask us for help.”

“Let’s hope.”

“Did you find anything else?”

Bobby retreated to the table in front of the fireplace and grabbed a stack of books that looked like they could fall apart at any moment. “These have got some sigils that are supposed to ward against angels, but I haven’t got a clue if they actually work.”

“It’s better than nothing.” Sam crossed the room to look at the documents that the old hunter had taken out. “It says they have to be drawn in blood.”

Bobby shrugged and took out a knife. “Let’s get to work.”

***

Dean groaned and stopped trying to read the book in front of him. He had been hoping that being a hunter would mean that he didn’t have to do research, but he had been sitting there for what seemed like hours. And in all that time, Cas hadn’t settled on a book for long enough to join him at the table. 

Finally, the angel sat down in a chair on the other side of the table. 

“You found something?”

“Unlikely. But I would not expect there to be any information on Abaddon here.”

“Then why are we looking?”

“Because I’m not positive that there isn’t.”

“I thought we were going to find something to stop Abaddon, like a weapon.”

“Why are you so sure that the answer isn’t in one of these books?”

“Because they’re just books. Unless one of them is hollowed out, we’re better off with one of these things.” Dean got up and went over to look at a gleaming, curved sword on top of one of the bookcases.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.” Castiel didn’t look up from his book. 

“Why not?”

“It is imbued with a very strange form of magic. It is entirely possible that it would cause you be incinerated on the spot.”

Dean jerked his hand away from the blade. “They should put warnings on these things.”

“They probably assumed that anyone who would be given the key would be smart enough to not play with their weapons.”

“Point taken.” He didn’t try to touch anything else, but still continued wandering around to look at the various things that were hung on the walls and set on the bookcases.

“Dean?” Cas had only been reading for a few minutes when he broke the silence again. 

“What?”

“I believe I may have been wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come look at this.”


	9. Chapter Nine

“Is that the last of them?” Sam asked.

“Looks like it.” Bobby glanced down at the book in his free hand to make sure that they had drawn them correctly. 

_Thank God_ , Sam thought. The sigils had been drawn in blood, and it went against every instinct he had to stop himself from clutching the wound on his arm against his shirt to stop the bleeding. Now he was finally able to indulge, clamping the injury against his stomach, not even really caring about how the blood stain would probably never come out of the plaid fabric. 

After wrapping up his arm, he turned back to the hunter, a realization dawning on him. “Mr. Singer?”

“Yeah?” He was too busy looking over a book on one of the tables to glance up at Sam.

“If we’ve got this warding up, doesn’t that mean that Dean won’t be able to get back?”

“Probably.” He didn’t sound particularly worried.

“Well, is there anything that we can do?” Sam would have started tearing down the sigils right then if they hadn’t put so much effort into them. 

“Prob’ly not.”

“But what is he gonna do if he can’t get back?”

“I’m sure he’ll think of something.” Bobby looked up from his book to see Sam glaring at him. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

“So you’re saying that we just leave him out there with no back up.”

“He’s got that angel.” Bobby shrugged.

“Do you trust them?”

“No.”

“It’s a good thing that doesn’t matter,” a new voice said.

Sam spun around. He hadn’t even been listening for the sound of Zachariah’s wings. “What are you doing here?”

“Pointing out that you can’t even ward a room correctly for starters.” He looked around with distaste. “Really, guys?”

“Thought it would be a good precaution.” Bobby shrugged.

“And how’s that working out for you?” Zachariah sighed and adopted a slightly more professional tone. “Have you found anything?”

“Why would we tell you?”

“Because I can smite you?”

“Can’t you do your own research?” Bobby asked. 

“I could, but it’s so much easier to make you do it.” Zachariah paused. “Well, actually, it’s easiest to make Castiel do it, but he’s off playing detective with your idiot brother, so you two will have to do.”

“Thanks,” Bobby said sarcastically.

“You should be grateful. You’ve been handpicked by Heaven.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Zachariah sighed. “Fine, then. If you want to ignore the fact that you are helping the most powerful being on this tiny planet, be my guest.”

“Yeah? And what are we getting out of it?”

“Our eternal gratitude.” Zachariah drew out the words sardonically. 

“I’m honored.”

“Maybe it’s good thing,” Sam said. “There are worse people to have on our side.”

“Yeah? And where have they been while we’ve been down here cleaning up their demonic messes?” 

“We’ve been busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“Things that I don’t have to justify to you maggots.” Zachariah snapped. “Now, if you would tell me, I will get out of your hair.”

Sam looked at Bobby for permission before speaking. The hunter grudgingly gave it with a nod of his head. “Well, we haven’t found out much more than you   
already know. Abaddon’s a demon that comes with the apocalypse.”

“And speaking of that,” Bobby interrupted. “Why is this thing up here? Did we miss the memo about the world ending?”

Zachariah frowned. “I would guess not.”

“Then how?”

The angel shrugged. “Probably just got bored of waiting. Is there anything else?”

Sam shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”

“You don’t know how to kill it?”

“Well, we think we might have somewhere that we can trap it, but there’s no mention of how to get it open.”

“And that’s all you know?”

“Yeah.” It was a lie of course, but Sam wasn’t about to mention what else he knew about Abaddon, like the fact that the angels had been lying about what it was from the beginning. 

“Well, this has been a productive chat. Tell me when you figure something out.” With a slight flutter of invisible wings, Zachariah left. 

***

“What’d you find, Cas?” Dean started to cross the library to see what the angel had called him over for.

“Nothing nearly as interesting as what I have to tell you.” 

Dean spun around to try and place the new voice in the room. His eyes finally landed on a short man who was leaning up against a bookshelf. His hair was   
almost as shaggy as Sam’s, and he was dressed in jeans and a jacket, fairly normal attire, but there was something about him that seemed very far from normal. “Who are you?” Dean looked around for something to use as a weapon, but could only see the various decorative pieces that adorned the walls. Not exactly what he wanted. 

“Is that any way to treat a guest?” The man pushed himself off the bookcase and started to cross the room. “Besides, Castiel knows who I am.”

Dean cast a quick glance over at the angel, whose face was slack with shock. “Cas? Who is this guy?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m not. Surprise!” The man reached the tabled and flopped down into one of the chairs. “Now, can we get down to business, or do you want to shoot me first?”

“We aren’t doing anything until you tell me who you are.” Dean was starting to wish that he had kept a gun on him. 

“Castiel, would you like to do the honors?” The man gestured to the angel. 

“Dean, this is the Archangel Gabriel.” Cas still seemed a bit shocked.

Gabriel spread his arms as if to give them a better view. “In the flesh.”

“But you were dead. All of Heaven heard about what happened.”

“And Heaven’s never been wrong before?”

“But where were you?”

“My own personal witness protection program.” Gabriel answered after a moment.

“Meaning?” Dean asked. 

“Fell in with some Norse gods. They were nice. Especially Kali.” 

“Kali isn’t a Norse god.” During the short time that he’d actually tried to become a Man of Letters, he had read something about Kali in a book about Hinduism. He was more than a little surprised that he could still remember it. 

“Really?” Gabriel paused. “That explains so much.”

“Do I even want to know what you meant by that?” Dean was pretty sure that he didn’t.

Gabriel thought for a moment. “Probably not. Just stay away from Norway and you’ll be fine.”

“Meaning?”

“The wolves and horses there are a bit… different.” 

“Did you actually come here for a reason?” 

“Heard you guys were having some demon trouble.”

“You could say that,” Dean muttered. 

“Actually, no you couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Dean jerked his gaze up from the book on the table that he hadn’t really been reading. “Zachariah said—“

“Zachariah’s a lying bastard.” Gabriel interrupted. “Haven’t you ever read the Bible?”

“No.”

“You should, it’s a good drinking game. Take a sip every time they get something wrong. You’ll be dead before the end of Genesis.”

“Do you have a point?”

“The guy who wrote Genesis was a hack, but the one who wrote Revelation actually knew what he was talking about.” The Archangel snapped his fingers and   
an old book appeared in front of them. With a flick of his fingers, the book flew open to a heavily illustrated page near the back. “’The fifth angel sounded his trumpet, and I saw a star that had fallen from the sky to the earth. The star was given the key to the shaft of the Abyss.’” Gabriel looked up at Dean expectantly.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“It is a passage from Revelation,” Castiel said, “describing part of the Apocalypse.”

“Why are you reading it?” 

“The angel that they’re talking about is Abaddon.” Gabriel turned to look at the other angel. “But you already knew that, didn’t you Castiel?”

Cas refused to look at either of them. “I found it prudent to give Zachariah the benefit of the doubt.” 

“You know, this is why I left Heaven. Too many angels following orders, and not enough realizing that the people giving the orders are lunatics.” Gabriel almost sounded bitter.

“I know you’re having fun with your little family reunion,” Dean said before Cas could get another word in, “But we have research that we need to get done.”

“Fine. Oh, by the way, you don’t happen to know anybody in some place called Normal, Illinois, do you?”

“What?” Dean froze. 

“You might want to mention this to them sometime soon.”

“Why would Abaddon attack them? They don’t know anything.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Zachariah decided to get them involved. Just hope that they can deal with the consequences.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I will go warn them,” Castiel said. He stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed with a confused look on his face.

“Having some trouble there, little bro?” Even though Gabriel sounded amused, it was clear that something was very wrong. 

“I am not able to locate the building.” Castiel glared at nothing in particular as if it were that particular nothing’s fault that he was having trouble. 

“Did you think that Abaddon would make it that easy? She might be less of an angel than Lucifer, but she’s not an idiot.” Gabriel leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, already regretting coming to help Dean and Castiel. The human was completely clueless, and he’d always suspected that his little brother was a few songs short of a hymnal. 

“What are we supposed to do, then?” Dean asked.

“About your precious elders?” Gabriel scoffed. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Dean repeated incredulously. 

“Are you deaf?”

“We can’t just sit here and let them die.”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.” Gabriel was no longer leaning back in his chair, and seemed dangerously close to attacking someone. “In case you haven’t noticed, everybody seems pretty concerned with this bunker of yours. Once she figures out that she has the wrong place, how long do you think it will be before she shows up here?” 

“You have a better idea then?”

“Either of you ever heard of the key to the Abyss?”

“’The star was given the key to the shaft of the Abyss. When he opened the Abyss, smoke rose from it like the smoke from a gigantic furnace.’” Castiel recited the quote automatically. Why he had it stored in his head, Dean couldn’t begin to guess. 

“Correctamundo.”

“What does it do?”

“Well, you see, when there’s a key, there’s usually this thing called a lock. And locks are usually put on doors so that when you use the key—“

“Very funny.” 

“The Abyss is a dimension between realms,” Castiel said when Gabriel refused to respond seriously. “It is supposed to open as part of the Apocalypse.” 

“Whoa, wait a minute. The Apocalypse?”

“Yes. It is supposed to house creatures who will torture all those left behind on Earth.”

“That’s just great.”

“There is nothing ‘great’ about it. If the Abyss is opened without the Rapture occurring, those who would have been sent to heaven will be tortured.”

“Yeah, along with everyone else,” Dean said.

“If they have brought it on themselves, it is their own fault.”

“Nobody deserves to be tortured.” Dean glared at the angels. “Why’d you bring this up?”

“Do you know anything about a key to the Abyss?” Gabriel asked.

“No. Why don’t you?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. I mean, why wouldn’t they tell me where the key that I’m not even supposed to know about is? It’s not like they want to   
keep one of the most dangerous weapons of heaven away from us or anything. Come on, genius, Abaddon’s the only one who’s supposed to have it.”

Dean glared at him before taking a second to wrack his brain. “Actually, I think I might have seen it mentioned somewhere.” 

Gabriel flapped a hand at the bookshelves on the other side of the room. “Lead the way.” 

***

Hundreds of miles away, a few square feet of table was all that was lit in the library. The elders had long since shuffled away to the darkened corners to rest, or read, or do whatever they did when they were preparing for a battle. Mary Winchester was the only one still working, cleaning gun after gun by the flickering light of the only candle she could find. They weren’t too keen on book lights apparently, and fire was understandably rare in a room filled with an infinite amount of paper. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Mary pointedly ignored her husband and continued to polish the barrel of the weapon in her hand. “I think I’ve got it covered.”

“You know, you can leave if you want.” 

“Why do you think that?”

“Whatever this thing is, it doesn’t have a beef with you. It’s not your problem.”

“Of course it’s my problem. You’re involved.” She finished with the gun and put it off to the side with the others. It was the last one. She leaned on the table for a moment before reaching for a small pile of rosaries. John’s hand covered hers when she wrapped her fingers around one of the strings of beads. 

“Whatever this thing is, we probably don’t have a chance against it.”

“Are you trying to talk me into leaving or staying?”

“Leaving. If something killed you… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Probably ruin your life and everyone else’s in a pointless quest for revenge.” 

John laughed darkly. “Something like that.”

She finally turned to face him. “I didn’t think you’d be worried. I thought I wasn’t as important as these guys.” She indicated the people around the fringes of the room with a discreet jerk of the head. Even if they were speaking quietly, she knew the elders well enough to know that they could infer anything from a misplaced gesture. 

“Of course you are. It’s just….”

“They don’t trust me, and you aren’t allowed to if you want to stay in their good graces.” Mary pursed her lips. 

“It’s nothing against you.”

“We’ve been over this a hundred times, John, I know the reasons.”

“If they just got to know you—“

“They’ve had decades to get to know me. Don’t tell me that everything would be better if they ‘just got to know me.’ It doesn’t matter how well we know each other, they’re never going t like me or trust me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know.” Mary sagged back against the table. “Sometimes it just… You and Sam and Dean are all part of this… thing, and nobody will let me in on it, even though I know more than some of you ever will.” She paused, then forced a smile onto her face. “I’ve been thinking about getting a job, or… maybe doing some hunting again.”

“Without any backup?”

“Nothing big. Restless spirits, a stray vampire or two, maybe a demonic possession now and again.”

“I’d hate to see what hunters consider ‘big.’”

“The end of the world.” She wasn’t entirely joking. 

“I hope you won’t try to take on the end of the world without telling me.”

“You guys probably wouldn’t give me the chance.” 

“We probably wouldn’t have a choice if we wanted to live through it.” He glanced back down at the table. “Are you sure that there’s nothing I can help you with?”

“No. It’ll go faster if I do it myself.” 

John looked like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth. With a small nod, he turned away and headed off to a dark corner of the room. Mary turned and leaned against the table for support. They had been waiting for hours, and still there hadn’t been a sign of any disturbance. Watching the seconds slip away into the night was worse than the battle with the demon would be. 

After staring at her workstation with unfocused eyes for a few moments, she grabbed the wad of rosaries and headed for the door. There had to be at least one more drop of water that she could bless before all hell broke loose.


	11. Chapter Eleven

“I can’t believe that you two actually roped me into reading,” Gabriel complained. 

“Well, maybe if you would stop talking about it, you would be done.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to find the line that he had been reading when the Archangel had interrupted him for the umpteenth time. 

“You do know that I could smite you, right?”

“And who would stop Abaddon from ganking you?”

“I can handle Abaddon.”

“Obviously you can’t.”

Gabriel mumbled something that Dean couldn’t quite hear, but then was finally silent. Dean had almost gotten back into the rhythm of reading when someone walked up behind him.

“Have you found anything yet?”

Dean nearly jumped out of his seat, which he hadn’t even thought was possible. “Dammit, Cas.”

“I apologize for startling you.” 

“Just… don’t sneak up on me, okay? And how come you’re not reading?” 

“I finished while you and Gabriel were arguing.” 

“So you didn’t find anything?”

“No.”

“Me neither. Key disappeared a few decades ago, but nobody’s said anything after that.” 

Castiel glanced at the section of table that Dean was occupying, looking for a stack of books similar to his and Gabriel’s. “You shouldn’t have put the books back on the shelves. We won’t know which ones have already been read.” 

“This is my first one.”

“You haven’t finished a single book?”

“Well sorry that I don’t have your super angel reading powers.” 

Cas peered over his shoulder. “Is there something distracting you?”

“Your dick of a brother.” 

“Why, Dean, I can’t believe that you think that of me,” Gabriel said in mock offense. 

“Perhaps it would be best if you were to find a different room to occupy,” Castiel suggested.

“Whatever.” Gabriel snapped his book shut and stalked off. 

“Thanks,” Dean muttered.

“Correct me if I am wrong, but I do not believe that Gabriel is the reason that you have not made much headway.” Castiel took the chair next to the oldest Winchester brother.

“Oh, you do?” Dean gave up and pretense of trying to read and placed the book face down on the table. “What is my problem then?’

The angel squinted at him. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re seeing right through me.” 

“You are not transparent.”

“It means… never mind.” Dean broke eye contact and stared at the table for a long moment. “Do you think it means that something’s happened?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, how you can’t fly yourself over to headquarters. Do you think it means that Abaddon’s already there?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Dean.” 

“It’s fine. Just… wondering.”

“You aren’t a very good liar.”

“Of course I am.”

“You’re worried.”

“Yeah.” Dean laughed darkly. “You know, my mom used to tell me stories about when she was younger.”

“I don’t see how that’s related.” Castiel tilted his head to the side and squinted in confusion. 

“She comes from a hunting family, and there would be times when her dad went out on a hunt and didn’t come back from days. She and her mom would just   
have to sit there and wait for him to get home. Didn’t think I’d ever have to do something like that.”

“It must be excruciating having to worry about your family like that.”

“Yeah, well, the sooner we get all of this dealt with the better.” Dean picked up the book, but couldn’t make the little splotches of ink on the page form words. 

“I will continue with my research. Perhaps there is a book that we have not found that will give us a location for the key.” 

“You guys do realize what the smart thing to do is, right?” Gabriel called in from the other room. He had probably been listening to their entire conversation, which embarrassed Dean a little more than he would have liked to admit.

“We’re listening any time to want to tell us,” Dean said after the Archangel didn’t elaborate.

“Abaddon is attacking your precious Men of Letters, yes? And what do the Men of Letters have that could be valuable?” Gabriel held out a hand, inviting the human and angel to answer. 

“A lot of things. In case you didn’t notice, our job is to find out everything there is to know about things like you.” Though the last word dripped with contempt, it was aimed only at Gabriel. At the moment, Dean didn’t have any problem with Castiel, even if he was a bit odd.

“You’re not a Man of Letters, don’t even pretend. And you’re wrong, anyways. You don’t have jack squat at that headquarters of yours that Abaddon could want.”

“What then?” Castiel squinted at his brother as if the answer were written on the Archangel’s forehead. As far as Dean could tell, it wasn’t.

“This place.” Gabriel jumped up the stairs and spread is arms to indicate the entirety of the bunker. “A giant, underground building that nothing can get into without permission.” The Archangel sighed in annoyance when neither Dean nor Castiel showed any hint of comprehension. “We’re standing in the middle of a building that almost nobody knows about, looking for something that nobody has seen in hundreds of years. Don’t you think it would make more sense to look around here before going to Mount Doom?”

“But Mount Doom’s where they went to destroy… never mind.”

“I am not aware of any location called ‘Mount Doom’ that is of any significance.”

“It’s not… it’s a book, Cas.” 

“Would we find it helpful?”

“Not unless we have to fight nazgul.”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Stop torturing Castiel, it’s embarrassing,” Gabriel interrupted. “He’s going to make it look like we just sit around rereading the Bible all day.”

“You don’t?”

Gabriel directed an extremely fed up look at Dean. “Some of us actually get out and do things.”

“You left heaven,” Castiel pointed out.

Gabriel dismissed him with a flap of the hand. “Details. But back to the point. Don’t you think that we should look around here?”

Dean looked around, eyeing the multiple doorways with dismay. “How are we going to figure out where it is?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Better get started.”


End file.
